


Flarrow Smut Drabbles

by wordswehavesaid



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3938176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordswehavesaid/pseuds/wordswehavesaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Free to Fall to Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Felt a bit silly encouraging other people to write smut for this pair while not doing so myself. So I'm taking the plunge. First time writing anything like this, people, so bear with me. And, hopefully, enjoy!

There’s too much energy, too much pure, unbridled power in Barry Allen in those moments when he truly lets go, to be entrusted with just any ordinary partner, Oliver thinks. Trying to contain all that in order not to expose his identity nor harm the other person would be a near impossible task, and likely dampen the whole sensation for him, the pleasure.

Someone like Barry deserves all the pleasures in the world. Oliver knows a thing or two about the carnal ones. And he’s proven himself more than capable of handling the Flash.

That’s why he keeps a vicelike grip on Barry’s hips, pressing him unyieldingly into the mattress to prevent him bucking wild and fast as first he works him open with slick, careful fingers then drives into him at a steady, even pace. Lets the younger man claw up his back in a matter of seconds with barely a grunt at the sharp sting, both good and bad. Listens best he can to the high, keening moans, words falling from his lips at such speed as to render them almost unintelligible except for _faster_ ,  _more_ , and  _please, Oliver_. Holds him through the shudders, the tremors that wrack his body as he arches up with cry of ecstasy.

He’s safe, here, to fall apart in sweet abandon.


	2. Repeated Indulgence

Barry thinks Oliver must really get some kind of enjoyment out of it. He lays on his back with the older man braced above him, gasping for breath with one side of his face pressed into the cool sheets, coming down from his third high of the evening.

And they’ve only been at this for an hour.

But his next exhale turns into a breathy moan as Oliver slides his hands up the insides of Barry’s thighs, closer and closer to that region that is unbelievably starting to stir all over again.

“No,” he manages somehow, and feels both relief and disappointment when those hands stop their ascent.

“No?” It sounds bemused, a little smug, and when Barry cracks an eye open he can see Oliver grinning wolfishly down at him.

“Not when you haven’t even- I mean,” he sighs, wipes a hand across his sweat-soaked forehead and sits up. “I want this to be good for you, too.”

“This _is_ good for me, Barry. I love watching you like this,” is the other man’s soft confession. “It’s all I can do not to just let go every time, knowing I’m doing this to you.”

He has to press his lips tight together not to give some big, dopey grin in response. Then again, a thought occurs to him that puts a shrewd light in his eyes. “You sure this isn’t just good for your ego?”

Oliver has the grace to give a sheepish shrug and chuckle. “Maybe simultaneously. Indulge me?” And people say he has puppy dog eyes.

“Well, as long as I’m being indulged,” he decides after holding out for maybe half a second. He’s barely lowered himself back down before Oliver’s hands are picking up where they left off and, more than ready and responsive by this point, he moans long and full.

Had he really been trying to say no to this?


	3. Feeling Buzzed

He’s got a leg sliding over Barry’s knees, the first suggestion of a plan to straddle him here on the couch, and judging by the way the younger man fists the material of his shirt and tugs it closer he wholeheartedly approves. Oliver’s pressing light little kisses to the underside of the man’s jaw while slipping a hand under his shirt to set about exploring.

When he pinches a soft nipple, rolling the stiffening nub between thumb and forefinger, Barry gasps and goes rigid for a split second. Then his whole body seems to come to life with a _buzz_ across his whole skin.

Oliver groans into the other vigilante’s neck, even as his lips and fingers tingle. He’s felt just the barest hints of this before, as their encounters have grown increasingly hot and heavy. But the groan is part of a reaction to where he’s getting the most contact with Barry: sitting astride his thigh.

He feels himself go from aroused to rock hard in seconds, the undulations against his groin intense enough even through both their clothes that he thinks he’s seeing stars for the first time since before college. Sex, and the lead-up to it, for him has long been a pleasurable but predictable exercise. He allows himself to experience the passion but rarely now does anyone ever make him _feel_ it.

Dimly he registers Barry taking huge, gulping breaths, trying to calm himself down. With a fierce shake of his head, Oliver thrusts his hips once, and reaches down to squeeze the younger man through his jeans, making Barry give a startled yelp and jerk up into it.

“Don’t you _dare_ stop,” he nearly growls.

Flushed and dazed and still trembling, Barry nods and pulls him into a kiss that makes his lips practically thrum, and it shoots straight down his spine to that point of focus between his legs and producing another shameless moan.

Even in his most sex-crazed days, Oliver Queen never dreamed he’d come across a human vibrator.


	4. No Other Name But Yours

The first time is ridiculously embarrassing. They don’t even manage to get out of their clothes before Barry is cumming, hard, moaning and rutting against Oliver’s thigh. When he’s finished riding it out, there’s a damp spot there on the older man’s jeans and his own pants and boxers are uncomfortably warm, sticky, and wet.

“Oh God,” he says, pushing out of the arms that had been holding him up through all of it and backing up into the wall. “I am so sorry. I didn’t think it’d be that- that fast, I mean Caitlin and Cisco said maybe I—”

“Barry,” Oliver cuts across him in a low tone and bracing a hand on the wall just beside Barry’s head. His eyes are somehow both dark and glittering at the same time. “That was maybe the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed _until_ you mentioned Caitlin and Cisco.”

Barry grimaces, another apology rising on his tongue, but then a hand, strong and sure, is cupping his cheek.

“So why don’t we try that over again?”

By the end of the night he doesn’t think he could remember his teammates’ names if he tried.


	5. Look, Don't Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try and go back through to give these individual chapter titles. But this is sort of the first half of an idea prompted by radlilim. Definitely going to expand on this at a later point!

A ridiculous amount of Oliver’s problems start and end with the Flash suit. The sight of it hanging up in the case he’d gifted Barry before Christmas, for example, always causes a completely uncharacteristic grin to appear on his face—uncharacteristic to most aside from Barry—and is sort of chipping away at that threatening and unquestionable leader reputation he never had going.

The first time he’d heard Cisco refer to it reverently as “Our suit,” while looking over his shoulder at Barry, Oliver had almost cut his hand while sharpening his arrows he’d looked up with a questioning, perhaps hostile expression so suddenly. He’s noticed Cisco now avoids saying the words when he knows Oliver’s around.

But most of all, the suit is good. Sturdy, durable, provides basic protection from hits, conceals identity. But it also _looks_ good, _too_ good, on Barry. The younger man is practically on display, a feast for his eyes all wrapped up in tight, red tripolymer. Far better at showing off his assets than the loose t-shirts and sweaters he insists on wearing all the rest of the time. And when he bends over…if whatever criminal menace they’ve been facing has been secured or locked up, then there’s nothing that can make Oliver tear his eyes away.

That, however, is as frustratingly far as it can get. Because if he ever tries to reach out to touch the posterior that fills the material so well, introduce it and the wearer to a whole different kind of friction, whisper in his ear just how tight his own suit’s getting in places—Barry will not be the only one to know it.

Because Barry will _react_. And nothing about the man’s reactions, physiological in particular, is missed by STAR labs while he’s wearing that suit.

Considering neither of them are natural exhibitionists—no matter how many times in the past Oliver seems to get caught by _somebody_ —they don’t exactly relish the thought. Particularly as the first and only time they’d ever skirted that edge with a post-victory kiss it had been Dr. Harrison Wells’ voice, tinny and putting his teeth on edge all the more, which had interrupted with the demand, “ _Barry, your heartrate just spiked and your blood pressure’s increasing rapidly. **What** is going on?_ ”

They make do with what they can; bantering back and forth when their coms aren’t active; searing looks and the briefest of touches on the arm, shoulder, back. Barry at far more liberty to do so than he. It probably only exacerbates the problem, really.

For now, all he can do is watch and wait and imagine stripping that stupidly teched-out suit and boxers off the younger man and pounding away all his frustrations.

The subject of his lustful thoughts seems to sense his heated gaze in the middle of a conversation with Caitlin and Wells about the latest metahuman that’s been caught, and he turns his head. The mask is off so it’s Barry who takes him in with tousled hair and a single, long, up and down look before a knowing smirk adorns his face.

Oliver grits his teeth, shifts once in discomfort, and carefully adjusts the positioning of his bow. Oh yeah, it’s a problem.


	6. Drawn-Out

In the romance novels, people always say they wish the sex could last forever, that they could just live in that moment.

Well, Barry can get pretty damn close.

He’s gotten better at keeping to the speed of everyone else during the day, the mundane tasks. But arousal always sends that well-trained control out the window and his body into overdrive while time dilates around him. As a result, a single stroke of Oliver’s hand on his flesh can feel like an hour of pleasure, leaving him long past ready, begging and wantonly spreading for more. That first finger to slide in is always agonizingly slow, stretching him millimeter by millimeter. It takes everything in Barry not to push his hips further and probably break the archer’s hand trying to move things along at his own pace.

Sometimes the older man will try to hold things off for him, tease him, drive him crazy with a rocking rhythm that’s slow even for someone without super-speed. Each time he withdraws Barry clenches around him, cries out at the emptiness, an absence that feels far too prolonged.

But _oh_ , when Oliver fills him. Buried deep inside, locked together for a long eternity of nearly unendurable ecstasy as he reaches that place in Barry that sends a white-hot thrill washing all throughout his body. That gorgeous face above him frozen in a moment of pure, beautiful concentration, a groan just falling from the other’s lips.

He is lost in it, swept away on the tide of their shared climax. Oliver’s hand dragging the release out of Barry in a burst while he feels each individual pulse of his lover’s inside him in protracted aftershocks long after he’s cum and making the pleasure last impossibly longer. He moans, sinking bonelessly into the mattress, absolutely wrecked and sated.

Barry thinks the time only resumes the way it’s supposed to once Oliver slips out. Braced on his elbows on either side of Barry, the older man leans forward and places a soft kiss on his parted lips. “Hope that wasn’t too slow for you,” he murmurs.

“Slow is _amazing_ ,” Barry tells him with a blissed out smile.


	7. Wicked Fun

Oliver lies still, focusing on maintaining his even breathing as Barry hovers over him, trailing light fingertips over his chest. Over his scars. He’s never had the same fascination for them as other people seem to, probably because it wasn’t fascinating at all when he got them. Previous partners he’s taken to bed have looked at them in hushed reverence, asked him what happened, who gave them to him, where and when that was, on and on so that he can’t stop his mind from going back there to those agonizing nightmares.

Barry asks none of those things, just scrunches his nose as he seems to consider. “And this one, here…kind of looks like the Big Dipper,” he decides, poking gently at a thin pink line that curves just under Oliver’s ribs.

Oliver almost breaks, almost laughs. In a mischievous mood, so far the younger man has compared his various marks of battle to a cheerleader pompom, a boomerang, and Rt. 55. “The Big Dipper,” he repeats with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, cause it’s mostly straight going down, but then it kind of levels out here, and then it goes back up a bit,” is the explanation that’s given to him while Barry traces it out with extra care, starting a pleasant tingle in the base of his spine. The other man lowers his face closer to study it with more scrutiny as he adds, “It’s kind of flipped, though.”

“Well, in either case, I’m pretty sure I can safely say I’ve never been attacked with the side of a drinking ladle,” he tells him with a smirk. Then his careful control is broken in the form of a hitched breath as Barry pokes his tongue out and licks along the scar.

“Really? Cause I’d _love_ to get a taste of you.”

Oliver can only watch, mesmerized, as Barry shifts down the bed, unzips his pants and reaches in, and then he’s squeezing his eyes shut and groaning as the man sets about making good on his word with that sinful mouth and tongue. 


	8. Very Good Vibrations

He can feel his orgasm building already and Barry clenches his hands in the sheets, tries to think of something, anything that might slow himself down. But that’s impossible when his body is tuned to every stroke of Oliver’s hand, every thrust of his hips into him hitting that sweet bundle of nerves inside at just the right angle to make him want to cry out _yes, Oliver, yes!_ each time.

Instead, Barry gasps out, “Ol-Oliver, I’m close!”

The other man isn’t, judging by the steady rhythm he’s set still going strong. But he just nods against Barry’s shoulder and grunts, “That’s ok. Cum for me, Barry.”

And it takes everything in him to hold on and not follow through on that command. But Barry is determined not to reach that end without the other man. He grits his teeth, breath coming out ragged and sharp when he wants it to even out, try for calm instead of losing it worse than a teenager who can’t even keep from trembling at a simple touch for once and—

Wait. Barry gets an idea. He taps into that reserve of energy just tingling under the surface of his skin and redirects it somewhere in his body he’s never tried before.

“ _Fuck_ , Barry!” Oliver’s shouts, hips stuttering before slamming into him once and the older man is gone. He readily gives into his own release with a moan at the powerful climax shuddering inside him.

When he gets his breath back, Oliver is half-collapsed on top of him and still buried inside even as he softens. A poke to his shoulder causes the other man to lift his head enough to show him dazed blue eyes.

“I think I blacked out,” Oliver rasps out. “I’ve never done that before.”

Barry feels a grin, satisfied and smug, stretch over his lips. “So…the vibrating was good for you?”

He gets a sloppy and _very_ enthusiastic kiss in reply.


	9. Like a Virgin

Barry is always so tight. Probably a function of that heightened healing factor keeping his body in pristine condition—and incredibly sensitive. Whether it’s been a week or it’s round two of the evening, Oliver always has to make sure his fingers are well lubed before easing first one past that tight ring of muscle, opening him up, and then a second to start stretching him wide as he can for what’s to come.

Not that he minds it at all. He could spend all night like this, reaching, _touching_ places inside Barry the younger man’s never let anyone else. Watching that gorgeous face shift expression from the slightest discomfort to a burning, hungry, _needing_ sort of pleasure. Listening to him gasp and moan and cry out when he finally brushes against that spot that drives him wild.

By three fingers, Barry is rocking his hips on to them, trying to push Oliver in deeper, faster, _harder_. And then, if he hasn’t brought the other past the point of coherency yet, some variation of, “Please, Oliver I’m ready, I _need_ you.”

He tries not to take too much time slicking himself up—and sometimes Barry will have it done for him before he can reach for the bottle and _God_ isn’t that an amazing feeling?—because he needs Barry, too. Needs that tight heat around him so bad he can barely stand it. And as wide as Barry spreads those divine legs of his, as much care as Oliver’s taken to prepare him, that first thrust into him always feels like the first time _ever_.

He can’t remember how many first times they’ve had anymore. Just that every first time gets even better.


	10. Eating in Bed

Sex burns calories. Scientific fact. Barry needs calories, lots of them. Also scientific fact. Unavoidable, a frustrating obstacle to constantly have to keep in mind unless he wants to risk passing out in the middle of, say, giving Oliver Queen the best blow job he’s ever had in his goddamned life.

Oliver said it, those exact words, so it’s totally true. Barry’s thinking of having them engraved.

Taking breaks to the kitchen or out for takeout is kind of a mood-killer, however, so now he’s started preparing in advance. If it’s been a long day of running already or they’ve been at it for a while or if Barry’s been pushing it and is starting to feel dizzy, he stops whatever it is he’s doing—getting a grunt or even a whine of displeasure from the older man—pushes Oliver onto his back and straddles him before leaning over to the side to grab something off the nightstand. Oliver’s eyes light up almost as much as whenever Barry goes for the lube.

He considers for a moment as he shakes the can, then with a shrug pops the top off and just sprays whip cream in a line from the man’s navel to the hollow of his throat, adds a dollop over each nipple. Then Barry leans down and gets to licking.

With a groan, Oliver’s hands tangle in his hair, clenching and pulling as Barry makes his way up slowly, careful not to miss a single bit of the tasty cream. It’s never quite so delicious as off of Oliver’s skin, he’s come to discover, so he lets a moan out once or twice to show just how appreciative he is of it. Oliver starts moaning along with him when he reaches the first nipple, swallows the whip cream and suckles on the nub. He repeats the treatment on the other shortly after, and the whole process a couple more times until the can is almost empty and Oliver is arching up into it, his erection making itself very well-known against Barry’s thigh.

Barry grins, wriggles down the bed even as Oliver sits up to try and pull him back, confusion and desperation in his eyes. But Barry merely angles the can and sprays what’s left all down the hard and twitching length of him.

He thinks Oliver’s eyes might be the size of dinner plates just before he takes him in his mouth. Whip cream and precome and that distinct tang of _Oliver_ all mix together on his tongue, and Barry hums an obscene, “ _Mmm_ ,” around him.

“Oh _God_ , Barry!” Oliver’s hips thrust forward and he has to hold him down. It doesn’t take much longer than that for the other man to release in his mouth, and Barry swallows that down, too. Pulls off as Oliver softens and licks his lips while his lover takes gulping breaths of air beneath him.

“That was fun. I’m thinking one more can, then I’ll be good again.”

Got to reward the other for being so understanding of his basic needs, after all. Though if he wants to keep things interesting, maybe Barry should stop by the store tomorrow for new supplies. He thinks Oliver Queen à la mode would be _mouthwatering_.


	11. When Others Are Away...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so finally back with more Flash suit shenanigans for radlilum and the beginning of a fill for diaspora. You'll see what I mean. Enjoy!

It’s just the two of them in the foundry. Everyone else has headed upstairs to the Verdant for drinks, in a celebratory mood from a successful mission and being able to engage in the camaraderie between their two teams from Starling and Central. Barry’s only just gotten back to the base, however, as he’d offered to make the run back to STAR labs with the metahuman they’d just stopped. Now he’s chatting with Oliver as he pulls the mask back from his face.

“I tried to find Dr. Wells to let him know, but he must’ve gone home already. The lab’s empty,” the younger man notes offhand, and Oliver pauses just after placing his own mask on the mannequin. “I mean, it’s not a huge deal, the pipeline’s secure. I’ll be heading back tomorrow. And Caitlin and Cisco will be following on the train, even if they’ll probably be hungover. But, you know, tonight should be fun—

“Barry,” he cuts the other man off finally, breaking himself out of the reverie that the words _the lab’s empty_ have put him in.

Barry apparently hasn’t noticed that, nor the way Oliver’s stare has gone from glazed-over fantasy to razor-sharp intent. With some bemusement, he crosses his arms over his chest and acknowledges, “Yes, Oliver?” When Oliver only shuts the door of his case without hanging the rest of his suit up and takes a step closer, Barry’s stance shifts, uncertain. “Wait, what’re you doing?”

“Wells is home. Caitlin and Cisco are upstairs,” he enumerates, Barry nodding along to each one. Oliver takes another step and another, loving the sort of wary yet curious expression Barry’s wearing at his approach even as he’s matching it with equal backwards steps.

When Barry’s forced to stop due to backing into a wall, Oliver halts his movement forward as well. Instead he lets his eyes sweep over that lean, runner’s form, remaining for a long moment on the other’s crotch. The suit leaves little to the imagination most of the time, but he doesn’t think he’s making it up in his head that the material is stretching just that much more _tightly_. He brings his gaze back up to meet Barry’s and smirks.

“Oliver,” the other vigilante tries, though his voice comes out rather soft and breathy. Barry seems to realize it, too, for he ducks his head and there’s a full blush rising to his face. “We can’t— _I_ can’t, not in this. Just let me change—”

“Barry,” Oliver has to say again, a bit vehement in interrupting the man before he can act, and places his hands on his shoulders, kneading the tensed muscles under the red material. “Just _think_. The lab’s empty. No one is at the computers. No one is at the monitors. _No one_ is watching.”

He thinks he can pinpoint the exact moment Barry gets it. The younger man’s eyes widen, the embarrassed flush recedes, and he grips Oliver’s upper arms with gloved hands. “We’re alone. Actually alone.” He sounds like someone who’s suddenly and unexpectedly found liberation, voice absurdly hushed and yet almost _quivering_ with an undercurrent of excitement.

“Yeah.” And he’s not sure if he presses or Barry pulls him in first, but in the next instant he’s got the Central vigilante pinned against that wall, leather rubbing against tripolymer from chest to hips, the taste of the other’s mouth on his tongue because, hell, maybe this wasn’t what they’d planned to do tonight but they’re going to make the most of it this once.

With that in mind, Oliver wastes no time slipping a hand down to a certain area of the Flash’s suit he’s been coveting, aching to touch. And, oh yeah, Barry’s already half-hard, but with a squeeze the younger man moans into his mouth and bucks up into it.

Oliver sucks Barry’s bottom lip between his teeth and gives it a last nibble before pulling off to speak, voice husky with breathlessness and _want_. “You know how long I’ve been watching you in this suit, Barry? How long I’ve been waiting to get my hands on it, on _you_ , just like this?” He emphasizes it with another squeeze.

Barry gasps, he thinks from both pleasure and a bit of pain. He can feel the erection that’s trapped, straining under the tight red material. The speedster’s grip has shifted, arms wound tight around him and hands clenched in his green hood which, of all things, should not turn Oliver on but it does.

Barry’s way past turned on. He’s dropped his head to rest on Oliver’s shoulder, breathing hotly on his neck and trying to muffle his moans as he starts grinding against Oliver’s hand, apparently wanting the friction badly enough to ignore any discomfort.

Oliver has both eyes glued on that nearly breathtaking sight, yet finds himself speaking again, now directly into Barry’s ear. “You’re so good like this. I don’t think you even know what seeing you like this does to me.”

“Why do you have to be in a talking mood?” Barry practically groans, and Oliver feels one of those hands unclench from the hood only to slide down and grip his backside, pressing him flush against the other man. Oliver sucks in a breath as he hardens further within the tight constrains of his own leather but, much like Barry, has to start rocking his hips into the younger man, making what Barry does to him pretty apparent against his thigh.

He thinks the younger man is close, however, and Oliver wants to see it, _needs_ it to happen before he can even think about his own release because making Barry come while wearing the Flash suit might just be the crowning achievement of his sex life, not to mention the hottest thing he can even imagine. Barry actually whimpers when Oliver removes his hand, smooths it up the clinging material of the suit till he reaches the zipper and tugs it right back down all the way and then slips a hand inside. The skin underneath is hot to the touch as Oliver trails that hand over the bare chest, thumbing a nipple and making a shudder wrack through the other man.

But even those little thrills can’t distract him from his goal for long, and his hand goes lower, tracing the waistband of his lover’s boxers. Barry bucks up trying to meet his hand again. “God, Oliver,” he chokes out, “just _touch me_.”

There’s almost nothing that could stop him from following through on that demand. But just about the only thing that could _does_ happen in that moment. A second voice, behind him and near the stairs. “Oh, woah!”

Well they definitely aren’t alone now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so might put up a second part with the fallout. That'd be less smut and more just awkward talking about the smut, but if you guys want that I'll totally write it. Also would love requests for who the person walking in on them is. Already got one vote for Cisco, but I'm open to people's suggestions!


	12. ...Vigilantes Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to make up for the super-long wait, this is less of a drabble and more of a full-blown oneshot. And also because -due to him overwhelmingly winning the vote- I couldn't get Cisco to shut up for most of it. Please enjoy!

Lesson learned: you don’t always need your phone. Seriously, sometimes it’s not worth it.

That’s just one of the takeaways Cisco’s going to have from this night, he can tell. But the unchangeable fact is that up in the Verdant he checks his pocket only to remember he’d set the device down on a table in the Arrow Cave. So, recognizing that he’s already tipsy now and will probably be way too drunk to remember where he’d put it later, Cisco excuses himself from their large group which sprawls from their table to the bar to even the dance floor—who knew Ray Palmer was a master of The Robot?—to go get it.

“Could you see what’s taking Oliver and Barry so long?” Felicity yells over the pounding music and he gives an approximation of a wave to show he heard it.

He might have called out a greeting, given them time and fair warning. But the first thing he hears after touching down on the steps to the Cave is harsh, ragged breathing. Then a whimper.

His voice gets stuck in his throat. Is somebody hurt? It couldn’t be Barry—Felicity had linked up his suit’s monitoring capabilities to the Arrow Cave servers for this mission and Caitlin would have noticed—but it _sounds_ like him. He comes down the steps, uncertain and quiet and looking around until—there!

Wait, what is actually happening?

He’ll blame the alcohol later, but Cisco tilts his head, mouth half-open, and just stares in confusion trying to figure it out. He can’t tell if Barry’s in pain or not, because he can’t see his face when it’s buried in Oliver’s shoulder. The older man is holding him up, though, he thinks, against the wall. At least, he keeps pressing in close like maybe Barry’s about to collapse. But just with his hips, rocking them back and forth over and over. And, hang on, is that Barry’s hand on Oliver’s ass? And Oliver’s on Barry’s bare chest? Going lower and lower…

Any and all ambiguity is removed when Barry bucks just his hips forward into Oliver’s hand and begs, “God, Oliver, just _touch me_.”

“Oh, woah!” Falls out of his mouth before he can stop himself, and Cisco stumbles back. He’s both glad and terrified he’s said anything at all—and at least not the _Holy shit!_ that he shouts in his head. Glad because he’s just stopped himself from accidentally witnessing Oliver Queen putting his hand on Barry Allen’s dick.

But terrified because he’s just let the two superheroes know he’s almost been witness to Oliver Queen putting his hand on Barry Allen’s dick.

Barry, naturally, is the first to react, head snapping up and catching sight of him with wide eyes and dropped jaw. “Cisco!”

In the next instant he can’t really make out Barry. Oliver shifts his stance to shield the younger, more exposed man from view, which is sort of pointless when he’s totally seen Barry in his boxers, but mentioning that seems like it’ll end in certain death especially when the other man practically _growls_ , “Whatever you needed to get or say, Cisco, just do it and leave.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, yeah just needed my, um, my phone,” he says nervously, looking around and under the tables and definitely not at them. “Which was down here, somewhere…” More importantly, why is _he_ still down here? He should be fleeing while he still has his life! But it’d be weird if he went back without his phone, then the others would ask and he has absolutely nothing he can tell them. He wonders, briefly if anyone would believe him.

“Man, when I said you guys were in a league of your own I totally did not realize you bat for each other’s team.” As soon the words come out of his mouth he wants to swallow them right back up again.

“Dude!” Barry sounds muffled, and when he checks it’s because his friend’s hiding his face in Oliver’s shoulder. Oliver’s got a hand to the back of Barry’s head, fingers threading through his hair. It’s surprisingly…tender. Or it would be, if he wasn’t also fixing Cisco with an Arrow-worthy glare over the shoulder like that.

He winces and realizes how that might have been the dumbest thing his brain could have come up with to say. “Sorry! I am either way too drunk or not drunk enough for this conversation.”

“We’re not having this conversation,” Oliver insists.

He nods quickly. “Ok, sure. But can I just ask—”

“Yep, _totally_ having this conversation right now,” Barry mutters.

“—is this, like, new? Or is it a thing? And by thing, does that mean dating or just superhero hookups in the Cave?” He doesn’t know if he can view the space the same way again if they make a regular habit of this. Scratch that, he’s still probably never going to be able to look at this place the same way again whatever the case. Not to mention the Flash suit, which Barry is apparently finally getting around to zipping back up. Probably waiting for things to get a little less tight down there—wait a second. _Wait_ a _second_.

“Hang on, are the _suits_ part of the thing, too? You guys do it in my suit?” He demands in building horror and righteous indignation. “Seriously, dude?”

“ _Cisco_ ,” Barry half-groans, half-whines, face red as the suit itself. “No, ok, and this is _exactly_ why. Look, I just—” he suddenly zips out from behind Oliver and away and then Barry’s standing there in street clothes. “I have work tomorrow, so I’ll just…” there’s a pause as he looks first at Oliver, then Cisco, then down at the ground with cheeks staining red once again. “Yeah.” In the next instant, there’s a rush of air past Cisco and his friend’s gone.

“He’s going to ruin his shoes again,” Cisco remarks with a shake of his head, but when he catches sight of Oliver’s stony expression, any and all amusement flees for its life. “I should probably go.”

“You should have,” the other man corrects, and it’s probably the most deadly serious usage of past tense Cisco’s ever heard in his life.

He stammers out an “Uh-huh,” that sounds more like a small animal’s pitiful death squeak, then finally locates his stupid phone and runs as fast as a normal human can out of there.

His escape into the Verdant feels short-lived when he’s almost immediately greeted by a number of their group in various states of intoxication asking about the two vigilantes. He tells them Oliver will be up soon and makes some excuse for Barry that’s readily accepted. The other man doesn’t stick around the party scene too long if he hasn’t volunteered to be the designated runner; must not be fun to be the only sober one at all their hangouts.

And now Cisco feels like shit, not to mention the tons of pity he’s feeling for Barry. Dude probably _needs_ to get laid, and if Oliver Queen is who does it for him—or does _him_ , as the case may be—more power to him. Them.

Yeah, definitely them judging by Oliver’s supremely grumpy expression when he emerges into the club, walking straight behind the bar to get probably the strongest of whatever they have on hand. He could probably do with some serious unwinding, and Cisco doubts the alcohol will be near as effective.

So he takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. He’s doing this for them. Barry’s his best dude friend, this is practically a duty he has to carry out. He’s gone toe to toe with Captain Cold armed only with a vacuum. He can do this.

He’s not any less wracked with nerves once he’s gotten to the bar and cleared his throat. Oliver stands back up and fixes him with a look of near-murder. “What now, Cisco?”

Straight and to the point, he can roll with that. “Ok, I get I’m the last person you want to talk to right now, but see I’m the _only_ person you can talk to right now. About—”

“Here is really not the place,” the other man cuts him off. “And I’m not up for discussing it anywhere else.”

Oliver’s not even looking at Cisco now, just pouring himself a shot, but he’s gotten worse brushoffs for dumber reasons—thanks, Hartley—so he doesn’t let it bother him. Just asks, “Not even if I said I could help?” When the other man pauses with the shot glass half raised to his mouth he knows he’s got him. “Maybe it’s the drinks talking, but you guys seem pretty legit about…whatever it is you’ve got going. And, kinda can see why the suits would…yeah.” The loud music and thump of the bass combined with the background hum of voices indistinct in the crowd is disguising their own conversation, but the Starling vigilante is right in that it’s making this even more awkward. “Point is, I’m willing to help you get what you want _if_ you follow some basic guidelines.”

Yeah, he’s definitely underestimated the amount of liquid courage in him since he’s managed to throw down an ultimatum to the freaking Arrow. Amazingly, he isn’t shot on the spot. The other man’s mouth has twisted into a deep frown, though, and he’s staring at the ground. After a long moment, he finally gives a slight nod more to himself than to Cisco, and then knocks back the glass.

“I guess we do have something to discuss. Downstairs.”

Cisco releases the breath he doesn’t realize he’s been holding only when Oliver turns away and heads for the Cave door. He’s nearly put his life on the line several times, but apparently the power of boners prevails this night.

Barry better appreciate this or so help him Cisco is telling Caitlin.

\---

Barry is incredibly proud of himself for avoiding any and all reminders of one of the more embarrassing moments in his life, and any situation that might call for a discussion of it. This is mostly thanks to Caitlin; her near-constant presence alongside Cisco either in the lab or at the coms has never been a godsend more than in the days following that night, but it’s the next time his help is required in Starling that his luck runs out.

A majority of Starling’s heroes hadn’t been present for the patrol due to work or personal commitments—the reason he’s pitching in in the first place—but once they’ve all returned to the Cave the remaining few gradually depart. Thea’s the last to give up on her brother, who is taking his time putting his equipment away while bizarrely carrying on a conversation with Cisco over the coms. Barry’s left his suit on to listen in, though he’s admittedly only half paying attention. Most of him is just finding it hard to ignore that their numbers are rapidly dwindling to the People Who Know, and Barry does _not_ want that.

The sound of a yawn in his receiver suddenly has him on edge, particularly when his personal physician’s voice follows it up with, “I think I’m going to head home before I’m too tired to drive.”

“Actually Caitlin—” Barry starts with no idea how that sentence is going end, just that the idea of being alone in the Cave with the engineer and his partner—again—is mortifyingly unbearable.

But Cisco says right over him, “Yeah, go ahead, I’ve got it covered.”

Oliver even adds his own polite and completely unconcerned, “Goodnight.” He either doesn’t see or is choosing to ignore the panicked, pointed look Barry is giving him.

No one’s says anything after Caitlin’s own goodbye, so he thinks it’s probably about to get awkward. Barry takes a step around Oliver heading for the glass case set aside for his suit, only for Oliver to stop him by grabbing his arm and whirling him around to face each other. Instead of answering Barry’s bewildered expression, however, he asks, “Cisco?”

“She’s at her car…starting it up…ok, you’re in the clear.”

“In the clear for wha—whoa!” He doesn’t quite get to finish asking, due to Oliver pushing him down onto a cot he hadn’t noticed behind him. “ _Guys_?”

“No way, dude, I’m not sticking around for this,” Cisco says. “Just remember the terms of agreement.”

“Goodnight Cisco,” Oliver says rather shortly before cutting off the transmission on his end. Cisco does, too, but that’s something Barry only peripherally notices since his lover seems intent on pretending the Cave is their bedroom.

“Oliver, what are you—mm!—doing— _ah_!”

The older man takes another moment or so to suck on the nipple he’s exposed by half-unzipping the Flash suit before finally answering, “The club’s closed, everyone’s home or on their way, and Cisco’s shutting off the monitor feed for the next twelve hours. So I’m taking advantage.” He looks about to continue doing so, but Barry stops him with an arm braced against his shoulder.

“Wait. You guys arranged this? So we could—?” He cuts himself off, not quite able to finish the thought out loud it’s so absurd. Absurd, strangely sweet, and frankly _wonderful_. Instead of trying to express that in words to the other man, Barry simply pulls him up to meet his lips in a hard, hungry kiss, fingers searching madly for the zipper on Oliver’s own jacket.

There’s a laugh against his mouth before Oliver asks, “So I take it you like?”

“Yeah. But what I’d really like,” Barry breathes against his partner’s lips before laying back on the cot, propped up by his elbows, “is for you to take me right here in your lair, Arrow.” He’s more than a little proud of the way Oliver’s eyes instantly darken, pupils blown wide in desire, and the actual low growl that escapes from the man’s throat.

“That’s the idea…Flash.” And God, he never knew he needed to hear his superhero alter ego name said like _that_. But before Oliver makes any sort of move to act on that statement, he instead reaches into one of the many pouches of the green jacket hanging open on his muscular form, withdrawing two square packets. “Terms of agreement,” is all Oliver says in explanation to his raised brows.

But he gets it. A sort of choked noise escapes him and he’s not sure if he wants to laugh or curse at Cisco. He abandons both options in favor of groaning, “We must be crazy desperate.” Whether to commiserate with or console him, Oliver pushes the cowl over Barry’s head in order to thread fingers through his hair and guide him into a gentle kiss. He leans back shortly after and lifts a hand to the fabric laid over his own eyes.

“W-wait!” Barry says before he can stop himself. Oliver pauses, eyes questioning. “Could you…leave the mask on?” He doesn’t know how he manages to get the words out, but once he does he doubles down on his resolve even as his cheeks start heating up. “My term.”

His lover seems at first surprised, then quickly recovers. A smirk is growing on his face as he replies, “If that’s how you want it.” Behind the mask, his eyes are dark yet _gleaming_ with this newfound knowledge—dangerous knowledge, Barry acknowledges with a shudder, but can’t find it in himself to care, too busy ripping open one of the packets and reaching into the Arrow’s pants. While not as quick, Oliver is soon returning the favor and that hand on him even through the condom has him already moaning with pleasure.

Third-party agreements aside, this will always be just between the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize this one was a bit less smutty than previous ones. I'll try to make up for that with the next few I have planned. Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear any thoughts!


	13. Something Different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So to make up for last chapter's lack of smut, have some smut! And discussions before the smut, but hey, communication is important people! Enjoy!

“Something on your mind?” Oliver has to break off his rather extensive exploration of his partner’s mouth to inquire. Tempting as it is to simply ignore, he’s learned from experience it’s best to address things directly with Barry, or the younger man will simply hold onto whatever worry—trivial or significant—all night and let it distract him all the while.

Not to say that Barry is being a bad lover at the moment. He’s been returning Oliver’s kiss with normal, appropriate passion—but Barry is neither normal nor appropriate most times. His kisses are searing, the tremble of pleasure and desire that breaks out across his skin feverish, and most tellingly he’s usually already flashed them both to the bed by now.

As it is, the other man holds his gaze for a second, then drops it, falling back against the back of the couch. “I…yeah, actually. I was thinking about us. This.”

“Barry, you can say sex.”

That at least breaks some of the tension. Barry goes a bit red and bumps his shoulder with his own. “Yeah, ok. But I mean I’ve been thinking about it—and it’s great. I mean, the sex is really, _really_ great,” he affirms, despite sporting a full-on blush now and ducking his head.

Though all of this is at the least amusing, Oliver can’t help a little worry that he tries his best to mask, remarking, “I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there. And not the good kind.”

The next thing he knows, there’s a pillow in his face. “Oh my God!” Barry still manages to sound scandalized even as he’s cracking up. “And people seriously think you’ve reformed your bad boy ways.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it.” He’s tossed the pillow aside and arches a challenging eyebrow at the other.

“I do,” his lover admits, then stresses, “ _But_ , sometimes it feels like only I get to. You give me so much, and I just want to do the same. Return the favor.”

“Barry…” he hesitates, struggling with finding the right way to word this. An outright rejection after such a heartfelt entreaty would be harsh even by his standards. Barry’s concerns that his body’s exceptional needs cause Oliver’s to go neglected are well known to him, but he wants to make it clear, “I don’t really think that’s something I’d be into.”

The other man doesn’t look discouraged though he clearly understands, and even reaches out briefly to touch his arm. “That’s ok. I’m not sure I’d want that, either. But I do want to try something…different. I—” Barry takes a breath and visibly screws up his courage before stating, “I want to ride you.”

His eyes go wide. “Oh.”

“I know we’d have to be careful,” the younger man almost immediately starts defending. “My powers—but I know I can control them, really. And—”

“Barry,” he finally interrupts. It’s taken him this long because after the initial shock his mind had conjured up an image. An image that is as intriguing as it is _distracting_. “Ok.”

“Ok—wait, really?”

His partner looks so thrown, he can’t help a fond smile. “Yeah, we can try it if it’s something you want. I trust you.” He leans in to deliver a kiss that he hopes conveys all that and more, and is unsurprised when moments later there’s that rush of motion and he finds himself flat on his back in their bed with Barry straddling his waist. Now _this_ is definitely his lover fully committed.

He’s left their clothes on this time, and so Oliver enjoys his fair share of stripping the other down to nothing and pressing his lips to newly exposed skin. Eager as they both are to keep going, it takes everything in him to instead roll them over and reach blindly for the bedside table. He feels as well as hears the noise of protest Barry makes against his mouth and pulls off to gasp, “Have to prep you first.”

Understanding blooms on the other man’s face, who nods once and then spreads his legs for better access, which never fails to make Oliver’s mouth run dry. He locates the lube and wastes no time coating his fingers with it, though he’s far more careful once he starts to open Barry up.

All this is familiar enough to both of them, and yet there’s an undercurrent of excitement and uncertainty not completely unlike the first time he’d ever fingered Barry; Oliver can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears while the younger man’s knuckles are white where they’re clenched in the sheets.

He untangles one hand after a time, however, to push at Oliver’s shoulder. “Oliver, I- I’m ready. Let me—oh please.”

Obediently, he removes his fingers and flips them back over. Then it’s Barry’s turn to grab the lube, squirting some into his palm and using that to slick Oliver up with a few strokes that he barely keeps from thrusting into. He’s so hard, so desperate for Barry’s touch it _aches_.

A thrill of anticipation shoots through him when at last his lover grips him at the base and guides his length to his entrance. They’re both holding their breath as Barry starts to sink down onto him, and he doesn’t know how to describe the difference that is Barry slowly taking him in inch by inch. The change in angle might have something to do with it. Maybe it’s just that all he has to do is  _feel_. And dear God, it feels good.

When he’s the one in control, he usually starts with one or two shallower thrusts, to help the other get used to his girth. But this time, Barry does not stop until he’s fully seated on his cock, and he can only groan at the sensation of being totally encased in that tight heat. The pleasure flooding him is nearly unbearable and he’s practically overcome with the need to _move_.

Above him, however, Barry is still, panting and trembling slightly. “Sorry…just- just need a minute.”

“That’s ok,” he manages, voice sounding strangled to his ears. He swallows thickly “You’re doing so good, Barry. Show me what you got.”

His encouragements seem to have some affect, for soon he can feel Barry’s walls relaxing just that little bit around him. The younger man braces his hands against his chest, raises his hips high enough that barely the tip is left inside him, then slams all the way back down. Oliver can’t stop a moan escaping his lips, nor the next when Barry fiercely promises, “You got it.”

It’s with a strict self-discipline he doesn’t acknowledge nearly enough in his partner that sets a brutal pace, hard and fast. Barry’s quickly able to locate just the right angle that has him taking Oliver in all the way to his sweet spot, and then they’re both gasping and crying out with pleasure.

All he can do is hold on with a bruising grip on the other’s hips, along for the ride and in awe of the erotic sight that is his lover fucking himself on his cock. Barry is gorgeous; lips parted, body flushed with a sheen of sweat coating him, strong and unfaltering. He wants to watch forever.

His eyes do squeeze shut a moment when Barry does some kind of twist with his hips as he lowers himself again that has Oliver almost finishing right there. “That’s it, Oliver…just feel,” Barry urges. “Wanna make you feel so good.”

There’s a sudden tightness in his chest as he thinks he can feel his heart swell with everything the man does and doesn’t say. “Barry—” he chokes out.

“Can you cum for me? I’m— _ah_!—so close, but I just want you to let go. Need you to let go.” Barry lifts his hands away from his chest, and Oliver arches off the mattress. He thrusts up once, twice, and then is cumming hard with a wordless cry, filling Barry with it. As Oliver comes down from the high of climax, he wraps one arm around him, and brings his other hand to his lover’s cock still leaking precum and throbbing with need. It only takes a single stroke for Barry to release with a sob, spilling into his hand.

They both drop back onto the bed breathing harshly, Barry collapsed on top of him. He makes a soft sound when Oliver begins rubbing his back in slow circles, and nuzzles into the crook of his neck. Dropping a kiss there, his partner then murmurs, “So how’d I do?”

“Amazing,” he tells him honestly. “Next time you get an idea, share it immediately, you’re a genius.”

Barry huffs out a laugh before giving a happy sigh. He’s curled up to stay, seemingly sated and content, and Oliver’s about willing to let him simply drift off to well-deserved rest. But for once, he can’t seem to help sharing as well.

“Barry?”

“…Mm-hm?”

He presses his lips to his lover’s forehead. “For the record—you always make me feel good.”

Pure warmth, bliss, and a smile against his skin are what he falls asleep to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are getting kind of long, aren't they? Should probably consider changing the title. Oh, I also got a [tumblr](http://wordswehavesaidworld.tumblr.com/) if anyone feels like checking that out. Say hi, prompt me something (can be smut or not), or just leave a comment here. Thanks so much for reading!


	14. Prey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was prompted by radlilim. Hope you all enjoy!

Barry licks his lips and glances around the room. “You’re sure this’ll work?”

“Yep,” is Oliver’s typically short reply.

He tilts his head. “What if I break it?”

“That’s sort of the point, Barry. I want to see if it can hold up against you,” the older man reminds. “If it doesn’t, then we’ll go back to the drawing board.” With that, he takes up his bow.

They’re in the Starling City warehouse they’ve commandeered for their training sessions, though this isn’t shaping up to be like one of the usual ones. Barry’s dressed similarly to Oliver in sweats and a t-shirt because the older man had simply asked for his help in testing out a new design for his trick arrows. From what he understands, it’s supposed to shoot out a net that embeds itself in the ground or wall via several arrowheads around the perimeter.

Barry’s apparently volunteered to be the hypothetical quarry, doing his best to power through the net’s hold because as Oliver’s put it, “If you can’t get loose with even a fraction of your speed, it’ll work for anything else.”

So he’s ready in front of a mat that’s been thoughtfully laid out for him, which is nice because he hadn’t wanted to spend the next hour or so nursing a concussion. Oliver nocks the trick arrow, a little bulkier to Barry’s eyes than the normal ones, but other than that he sees no difference yet, and aims.

“If this were real,” he can’t help pointing out, “I would totally just dodge out of the way, you know that, right?”

“Right.” Oliver smirks, then lets the arrow fly.

It’s admittedly hard to reign in his instinct to run for a split second, but then in slow motion he watches the netting spring open and fall over him. Time catches up as he’s forced under the sudden weight and inertia down, thudding thankfully onto the mat in an ungainly heap. He has to take several gasping breaths, the wind having been knocked out of him in the fall, but already he can tell the basic concept worked; he’s been knocked onto his back with very little leverage as he can barely raise his hips more than a few inches off the ground when he gives an experimental attempt.

There’s gaps in the mesh, of course, no larger than a few finger widths, but it allows him to spot Oliver when the man comes into view. He’s observing him, both amused and expectant, so Barry frowns in equal parts irritation and determination, then gets to work. Kicking and pushing up only serves to get his feet and arms tangled in the netting, so he tries speed-kicking outward in hopes of knocking some of the arrow heads out of place. They don’t budge from their hold in the ground.

“Decided to try an aluminum carbon composite this time,” the older man tells him, sounding smug. His smirk turns just a bit lewd as he adds, “I was told there were complaints about my penetration.”

“Ha-ha,” Barry enunciates each syllable to make it clear he’s definitely not at all impressed or excited about having helped the Arrow again. Not when he’s clearly paying for it now. And he’s far less successful at stopping the blush he knows is probably spreading over his face and down his neck by now. But he’s feeling more than a little hot and bothered by the way Oliver’s watching him wriggle and squirm, like he’s the fly caught in his web.

It’s harder to forget in moments like this that Oliver is not just his partner in the vigilante teammate sense of the word, he’s also the man who gave him ten orgasms last night.

Barry mentally berates himself for thinking the word _harder_ now of all times, and says, “So I’m pretty sure this works great.”

“You think so?” The other man’s clearly pleased, and his voice is pitched low as he crouches down. Which is dangerous, it does dangerous things to Barry.

“Y- yeah. Too bad you guys didn’t make one of these before I got whammied by Bivolo, or you’d have had me for sure,” he jokes. It really is a little humiliating, though, the Flash stopped by a net. He considers trying to phase through but he hasn’t quite mastered doing that from a stationary position, and would more likely end up with it stuck inside his arm. Caitlin would throw a fit.

His breath catches when a hand is placed on his chest, fingers lightly tracing through the thin material of his shirt. “Oh, I’d say I have you now,” Oliver remarks offhand, while his thumb brushes over a nipple.

Barry gasps. “Ol- Oliver?” This is far from the norm during their training; the Starling vigilante might return his flirts but he claims they have to take things seriously like they would in the field. Now he’s feeling him up through his clothes and some mesh.

“You are _far_ too tempting like this,” his partner growls, that same hand trailing lower down his body. “You should see yourself, Barry, writhing on the floor. And you can’t get free.” He’s stopped right at the indentation of his hips and Barry has to work to keep himself from writhing any more. “I could do anything to you.” But those fingers skip right over where he’s already starting to badly need them, instead rubbing at the inside of his thigh.

Barry holds out for a total of maybe two seconds before whimpering, “Please do.” Then moans, the sound echoing off the high ceiling, as suddenly Oliver’s hand is _there_ and palming him through his clothes. It’s causing the mesh to drag over his rapidly hardening length, a rough sort of friction that’s somehow thrilling as it reinforces that idea of being trapped at his lover’s mercy. He arches up into it. “Oh God, Oliver!”

“Easy,” Oliver’s tone is warm even if teasing. “I think I ought to thank you for playing victim today. How’s that sound?” He can only give a pleasured groan in response as the man continues to grind his palm against his now fully hard erection. “Lift your hips, Barry.”

He’s eager to comply, and Oliver does his best to reach through the netting and pull both sweats and boxers down to his knees. Barry’s cock springs free of those confines, but strains against the mesh, which is again way more erotic than he would’ve ever guessed before today.

It’ll probably be enough to bring him off if Oliver wants to just jerk him off, and he does give one or two more strokes, even reaching further to cup and gently roll his balls in his palm which elicits a few high, keening noises from him.

But then the older man is gripping him at the base, guiding his length through one of the gaps in the net. It’s not tight, but enough of a squeeze to be felt, and his cock twitches at the new sensation. Something to think about later.

Because Barry suddenly realizes what Oliver’s planning to do when he leans down and licks his lips, and it makes his heart jump into his throat. “Oliv _ohgod_!” The other man’s lips are wrapped around the head of his cock and he can feel the other’s tongue circle around the tip.

It’s the first blowjob Barry’s had in ages, and probably the first one Oliver Queen’s ever given in his life. He nearly cums right there.

Barry’s digging his heels into the mat and clenching his hands in the netting as his lover starts slowly bobbing his head, taking in more and more of him each time, his hand stroking Barry at the base. His tongue runs first down the underside of him, then swirls around.

“Oh God, yeah…like that, just… _Oliver_ ,” is spilling from his lips faster and faster as he feels his climax building. It’s taking everything he has not to just buck up into the wet heat of Oliver’s mouth, and he thinks he’ll break the skin of his palms if his nails dig into them any harder. He gives something like a sob when Oliver hums around him, wickedness dancing in his eyes at finally being able to get Barry back in some small measure for those vibrations.

All too soon he feels his pleasure mounting, and he chokes out in warning, “I’m gonna cum, Oliver, I’m so— _ohhh_!”

It shoots out of him in waves of ecstasy—straight down Oliver’s throat, who determinedly swallows it all, only then pulling off of him and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Oh my God,” Barry says breathlessly. “That was—God, Oliver.”

“Worth it?”

“Uh-huh.” He’s starting to come down from the high, though, and is once more reminded of his position. “You gonna let me out of this now?” He really wants nothing more than to kiss the other man, taste himself on his tongue.

“I don’t know…” Oliver muses, pretending to think about it.

“Well, if you don’t,” Barry reasons, “I can’t really help you out with that.” He shoots a pointed look to the noticeable bulge in his partner’s sweatpants.

It’s with embarrassing speed that Oliver is able to wrench the net out of the ground. Barry always maintains afterward that he had better leverage.

**Author's Note:**

> These won't really be chronological or even connected, really. Suggestions or prompts are welcome!


End file.
